


Luncheon

by beyondcanon



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 16:00:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1611011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyondcanon/pseuds/beyondcanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana is a married lady of leisure, Brittany is waitstaff. They meet at one of Santana’s neighborhood luncheons, then sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luncheon

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my [prompt challenge](http://beyondcanon.tumblr.com/tagged/ma%27s-prompt-challenge) on Tumblr. Some stories will be posted on AO3; this is one of them.

The sun is bright and it’s a perfect day.

Santana smiles, very satisfied with herself as she watches the preparations develop in front of her eyes: receptionists and waiters and chefs and all kinds of people walking around, immersed in their tasks.

It’s her husband’s birthday, and Santana is famous for her neighborhood luncheons.

Her white dress is elegant and enticing at the same time, but the staff knows better than to ogle her as she walks around her back garden, supervising.

—

There’s a new waitress.

Santana hadn’t noticed her before.

She’s blonde and her hair is in a high ponytail, her white shirt is one button too revealing, and the rolled up sleeves cling to her arms like they’re making love.

She looks at Santana like they’re equals. That’s new.

Santana enjoys it. A smile plays on her lips.

“I want her for my table,” she tells the host as she points to the blonde.

The man knows better than to ask any questions.

—

“Hi, I’m Brittany, and I’ll be your waitress this afternoon.”

Santana smirks, stretching a hand for Brittany to take. “It’s a pleasure.” She shakes Brittany’s hand slowly before she covers it with her other hand. “Call me Santana,” she says, her voice low.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Brittany answers, slow and calculating.

Santana licks her lips in anticipation.

—

Brittany is fast on her feet, attentive, and drop dead gorgeous.

Just about everything Santana likes in a lover.

She stares shamelessly at Brittany’s ass in those black slacks.

All in due time.

—

Three weeks pass until it’s her wedding anniversary and they’re having a lunch for close friends and a bigger party for everyone to celebrate.

She obviously hires the same event planning company and makes sure Brittany is part of the chosen staff.

—

Their dog, a chocolate Labrador, manages to break free and havoc chaos. He makes one waiter stumble and drop several wine glasses on the ground; he bumps against the cake table, and not satisfied, he munches the tablecloth like it’s one of his toys.

He’s young and caring, and it’s no wonder he tracks Santana immediately, running in her direction. She holds his face in her hands and lets him kiss her excitedly.

“There, there,” she says, rubbing his back and allowing him to calm down. Luckily, she’s still in casual clothes; she can kneel on the ground to hold him. “Aren’t you a good boy?”

Brittany crouches in front of her, armed with a leash. Santana holds Thor as she allows Brittany to capture him, noticing how long her fingers are.

Thor immediately falls in love with Brittany and proceeds to lick her face as well, barking adorably.

“Someone has a crush,” Santana says, allowing their hands to brush together as they pet his soft fur.

“Someone definitely has,” Brittany answers, her voice coated with double intentions as she stands straight and takes Thor back where he belongs.

Santana just stares, the hint of a crooked grin on her lips.

—

She makes sure her dress for the luncheon is too tight by everyone’s standards.

Her husband has his arm around her, securing her in place as they greet the first guests to arrive. It’s all a matter of good relations and profitable businesses, and she’s the perfect partner.

Brittany keeps stealing glances, and it makes Santana hungry.

—

She watches their structured frenzy, packing and organizing everything. She pays the waitstaff a little extra before each leaves, thankful for the good work.

Brittany is the last. She carries the last box to her truck and says goodbye to her colleagues before turning to Santana.

She’s panting, there’s a line of sweat dripping between her breasts and a few strands of hair fall out of place; she looks so fuckable Santana’s fingers itch.

“See you tonight,” Santana says, placing a 50 on Brittany’s hand, touch lingering more than necessary. “If you’re not too tired.”

“Don’t worry.” Brittany shakes her head and puts the money in her pocket. “I can go on forever.”

“We’ll see,” Santana answers, mouth watering at the sheer thought.

—

It’s huge and frantic, just how she likes it.

The house is full of people, the outer areas are packed, and this is less about class than it is about showing off and establishing their legend.

They’re the youngest, coolest and sexiest couple in that neighborhood and they know it.

There’s a piano guy and a DJ making wonderful music together, taking the people on the dance floor to superior levels of being; there are dancers by the pool, making a dazzling show for the guests; there are literally dozens of waiters carrying an infinite supply of booze to please every taste.

She walks around with a drink in hand, collecting congratulations on her anniversary, her party and her dress.

She knows she’s looking fabulous in her golden dress, displaying her rambunctious breasts and toned legs, hair falling thick and luxurious on her shoulders to her back.

She’s on top.

There’s just one thing missing.

—

Brittany is wearing a skirt.

Santana has to down her martini in one big gulp, and then another, as she watches that goddess walks down the stairs to the pool area, tray in hand, thighs flexing with the effort.

Legs.

She imagines them closing around her head as she goes face first on Brittany and has to bite her lip to hold the smirk.

She runs a hand on the back of Brittany’s arm to call her attention as she passes by, feeling strong muscles tensing. Her fingers settle just above Brittany’s elbow, tugging gently.

Brittany turns around, and there’s no mistaking her look for anything other than lust. “What can I do for you?”

“Many things.” Santana lets her hand run to Brittany’s wrist before breaking contact to grab a glass of champagne. “But for now, a drink.”

“Anything you want,” Brittany says before a guest calls her attention and she has to leave.

—

She finds her husband drinking whiskey and talking to the boys, too satisfied with his party to notice anything.

She kisses him and he tells the group a funny story. She laughs along before she leaves once more.

Divide and conquer – a party this size, she and her husband were always gravitating around each other, keeping things under control and talking to guests as they went – and she’s searching for Brittany again.

—

That skirt.

Santana can practically see herself pushing it up, displaying what she is sure would be a fine ass, grabbing and pressing into Brittany from behind, listening to her crescendo of moans.

It’s an accident when she bumps into Brittany from behind, just by the dance floor; there are way too many people to keep a distance.

“Sorry about that,” she whispers in Brittany’s ear, a hand squeezing her waist.

Brittany looks back, and there’s  _no_  way that grinding against Santana’s crotch is an accident. “It’s okay.”

Santana wants to kiss her, but not here – not in front of so many people. She needs to take them somewhere else, just the two of them.

It’s not a difficult thing at all, with a home this big.

—

It takes two and a half hours, give or take.

She goes to the second floor to make sure the private wing is just what it’s supposed to be,  _private_  – no drunk guests vomiting on her study, or fucking in the master bedroom, or who knows what – but Brittany seems to have beaten her to it, politely leading a couple back downstairs.

Their eyes meet, and Santana keeps walking until she’s on top of the stairs. She smiles when Brittany gets the message and soon comes back to Santana.

She stands in the inner corridor, shoulder against the wall. “You know how rare it is to bump into someone so many times in a party so big?”

She smiles, walking in Santana’s direction. “Maybe it’s fate.”

Santana nods, eyes dropping to the enticing movement of Brittany’s thighs.

“My eyes are up here, Santana,” Brittany purrs, stepping right into Santana’s personal bubble and touching her chin.

“Sorry,” Santana smirks, running the tip of her finger on Brittany’s cleavage. “Not sorry.”

Brittany’s breath turns deep and slow, eyes fixed on Santana.

Her finger continues its circle over Brittany’s clothed breast, going down on Brittany’s abdomen until Brittany’s tensing and her breath is catching on her throat.

“Let me show you the study,” Santana says, turning around and unlocking the door.

—

She should have it seen it coming, really.

Brittany doesn’t enter the room as much as throw herself at Santana, sandwiching her against a shelf of books. Those wonderful hands are all over her, palming her waist, her hips, nudging Santana up until her legs are safely locked around Brittany’s waist.

“I’ve been wanting to do this,” Brittany doesn’t say as much as she growls, cupping Santana’s ass and squeezing. She doesn’t even bother kissing Santana before sucking on her pulse point, mouth latching on to her neck for dear life. “And this.”

Santana moans, holding on to Brittany as she’s taken to a proper wall and there are no books poking Santana’s back, nothing but Brittany’s mouth and Brittany’s hips pressing into her.

This is new, but Santana is more than willing to submit on these terms. “You should see how wet you make me,” she teases, nails sinking on Brittany’s shoulder when her hot mouth finds Santana’s cleavage. “Watching you work and wishing I could just pull you aside and ride you.”

Brittany groans and drops her hold on Santana – she barely has any time to miss it, because Brittany is soon pulling her dress up and pushing a leg between her thighs.

They both moan when bare leg meets Santana’s naked center, spreading the wetness over Brittany’s thigh, and Santana hastily pops Brittany’s buttons open to she can lick those glorious breasts.

She’s skilled enough to have Brittany’s black bra on the floor in one swift motion, and takes advantage of the moment she pinches Brittany’s nipples to kiss her for the first time, hungry and wet.

Brittany promptly groans in her mouth, pressing her body against Santana’s a little more, arching into Santana’s hands as she rolls Brittany’s nipples between her fingers, sucking on Brittany’s lower lip so it  _stings_.

Brittany makes a desperate sound in the back of her throat, and Santana knows the tables have been turned. “I want you in my mouth,” she demands, savoring Brittany’s little whimper.

She pushes Brittany back to make her fall on the leather couch and takes her own dress off – no reason in ruining 900 dollars’ worth of clothing – before kneeling between Brittany’s legs.

She runs her hands on Brittany’s inner thigh, aware of Brittany’s shallow breathing and hooded eyes. Licking her lips, she removes only the black panties. “Let’s keep the skirt.”

Brittany throws her head back, cursing under her breath, and Santana wastes no time in lowering her head and darting her tongue in a long, slow swipe.

It’s exhilarating, how much Brittany is  _dripping_  for her, already whining.

Santana goes to town, then, deep licks between Brittany’s folds, humming at the perfect taste – oh, she’s already loving this – and answering to the sounds Brittany makes, coaxing small shivers out of her, drinking Brittany’s wetness.

Brittany grabs Santana’s hair and she’s practically fucking Santana’s face now, thighs on Santana’s shoulders and heels digging on Santana’s back as her hips work circles. It’s the sexiest thing Santana has done, and when her lips finally find Brittany’s clit, Brittany  _screams_.

She sucks it hard into her mouth, rhythmically, and it’s all it takes for Brittany to come all over her face, body trembling, back arching off the couch, delicious juices dripping on Santana’s chin as she keeps lapping hungrily.

Brittany’s hands tangle in Santana’s hair again, pulling her up. “Fuck, that was—“

She crawls over Brittany’s body with a smug smile. “The best you ever had?”

Brittany rolls her eyes, still panting. “Maybe.”

“We need to try again, then.” Santana informs calmly, palming her way down Brittany’s body.

Brittany holds her wrist, shifting their position until she’s on top, properly straddling Santana’s lap. She pulls Santana for a slow, deep kiss, taking over Santana’s mouth with ease and pinning Santana to the couch.

“I want you inside me,” she breathes between kisses, palming her own breasts. “Fuck me hard, Santana.”

Santana groans, fingers digging into Brittany’s hips as her left hand cups Brittany and the heel of her palm rubs against wet folds. “More,” Brittany whines, hips already rolling against Santana’s hand. “Inside.”

She circles Brittany’s clit with her thumb, applying pressure as she learns Brittany’s reactions, her short breaths, the biting of her lip, the small sounds she makes as her thighs tense and relax.

She finally enters, and Brittany sighs in satisfaction, her forehead against the couch as she hangs on it for dear life.

“Three,” Brittany instructs, and it’s so hot and tight Santana moans right with her, heart pounding. “Fuck, just like that, God—“

Santana moves her hand and Brittany tightens around her, slick and wet and perfect, hands dropping to Santana’s shoulders as she moves her hips.

She’s riding Santana now, breasts bouncing, looking into Santana’s eyes and fuck if just the sight of it isn’t going to make her come.

She’ll make sure Brittany is first, though, because she’s nice like that, good enough to have her thumb brush Brittany’s clit and watch her back make an electric arch, her hips become jerky and her tensing around Santana, keeping her inside as she rides an intense, long wave.

She lets out a shaky laugh against Santana’s shoulder. “Holy bageezus.”

She’s pulsing against Santana’s fingers, throbbing and aching, and she holds Santana’s wrist to stop her from pulling out.

They spend a few moments like that.

Apparently well on her way to recover, Brittany kisses Santana’s shoulder slowly, nibbling the flesh and smiling against Santana’s skin. “Again.”

Santana smiles.

Brittany is just her kind of girl.


End file.
